


L is for Love Letter

by irisirene



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisirene/pseuds/irisirene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a bid to deal with feelings far too near the surface, Malcolm and Trip write letters to one another that they never plan to send.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Malcolm

**Author's Note:**

> Not your typical fic. Technically first person, but in letter format. The idea comes from the therapeutic technique of writing someone a letter where you tell them about the feelings or problems you have with the intention of never sending it.

~~Tucker~~ , er, Trip,

 

While this seems like an exercise in utter futility, your advice to ‘get this off of my chest’ was too good to pass up, although I’ve had to...take certain liberties to avoid actually doing so. Trust me, if you think I’m acting weird now, you can’t even imagine how terrible I’d act if you ever came upon this letter.

See, what you don’t realize, is that the crux of my problem is you, dear chap. The long and short of it is, I fancy you. If I weren’t quite so pathetic, I could--successfully-- hide behind duty and keep you at arm’s length, and you’d never suspect a thing--no one would. For whatever reason, things with you are different. It’s actively a challenge, not letting you closer.

Believe me, that’s not usually how Malcolm Reed operates. It’s something about you, Trip, perhaps your teasingly blunt honesty--with occasional embellishments. Somehow, you’ve managed to get past every defence I set up, unwittingly charming yourself into my life, and begrudgingly into my heart.

It was a novel idea, the lure of telling you how I feel is strongly compelling, if terrifying. The closest I can come, however, is in writing a letter that I’ll never give you. Seems very English of me, now that I think about it, only letting my emotions out in private.

It’s amazing, the courage I lack in the face of something as supposedly harmless as love, when I’ve faced much worse for much less. I can’t understand my warring impulses, the terrifying exhilaration at the idea of telling you how dear you’ve become to me. I fantasize about your potential reaction, all of the time. What expression would you wear on that oh-so expressive face of yours? When I have the gall to imagine anything other than abject disgust or discomfort at the very idea, I picture an especially sweet smile or maybe a pleasantly surprised shy grin. As ridiculous as it may seem for any red-blooded male of the human race, I imagine tender moments far more often than I, well, picture shagging your brains out. Which, too, is a first for me.

Again, as I sit here at my desk, picturing your reactions if you were to ever read this letter, I’m reminded of how futile this exercise really seems. Who knows, maybe come tomorrow, this will seem like a release, not just an opportunity to dwell on feelings that seem to be festering somewhere in my chest.

Bit dramatic, that last statement. Thank God you won’t actually read this; I think that might be more embarrassing than the rest of this bloody letter.

Well, I believe I’ve made my point, Charles Tucker the third, I’m embarrassingly barmy for you and there’s nothing to be done about it, besides writing a letter than I’ll never intend to send.

 

Yours with love,

Malcolm Reed


	2. Trip

Mal, ~~Yeah, I’m gonna call you Mal here, feels less weird than callin’ you Reed or Lieutenant or even Malcolm, this just ain’t that kind of letter.~~

 

Anyway…

 

Mal,

 

Something’s been bothering you, lately, and I called you out on after weeks of sitting on my hands, hoping that you’d either snap out of it on your own or bring it up. I told you that trying to keep everything bottled up was a recipe for disaster, no matter what the english normally do when faced with something they can’t quite handle.

I’ve been trying to figure out what’s on your mind, but I’m afraid that I still don’t know you well enough to even guess at what’s goin’ on in that complicated head of yours. I feel bad, whatever it is, is clearly botherin’ the hell outta you, and I hate that I can’t help you, as your friend.

Hell, if I’m bein’ truthful, I care about you a lot more than that, but that ain’t the point here. I got problems of my own that’ve been bothering me, but I’m lucky enough to be better at hidin’ when I’m facing a...conundrum.

If I had my way, we’d be facing the same conundrum and it wouldn’t be a problem for either of us anymore, but the Universe ain’t that kind. Of course, maybe it’s that cruel and we’re  both just too cowardly to say a damn thing about how we feel because we’re bound up outta some misplaced sense of loyalty or somethin’ to do with toxic ideas of masculinity or whatever my damn problem is when it comes to...coming on to you. Huh, maybe I’m starting to pay too much attention to those ‘fleet sensitivity vids they have us watch.

Back to what I was saying, though. It’s stupid, if you were a chick, I would have no trouble coming on to you, not a bit. Even if we had the same history of slowly becoming friends despite our differences and me falling for you real deep like this, I would hardly hesitate to flirt with you sincerely or ask you to dinner without the pretense of working, by now I’d’ve probably kissed ya.

I’ve tried to tell myself, that my reluctance to be fully honest with you is because your trust is hard won and your friendship even more so and that this might ruin all of that great stuff between us or even that I’m so nervous of bein’ with a guy when I’ve never been interested in one before, but neither of those seem to really explain it. I think about it and think about it, and I think I’m just afraid that you’ll say no and bam! You’ll never wanna see me again, like those gals you left behind on Earth.

And I’d hate that more than anything. More than your disgust even. At least you’d still be around to hate my guts if it came to that.

But, Jesus, do I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone. Things I never even dreamed of wantin’, I want with you. I’d try anythin’ if you suggested it, honest to God. Good thing you won’t ever read this. That right there is dangerous information.

So, I’m taking my own advice and getting this off my chest so that I can focus on helpin’ you instead of imagining making love to you on every convenient surface. Though, I’ll have you know, that’s a venerated past-time for yours truly and it’s mighty fine one.

You’re so beautiful, Mal, inside and out. Well, what little I know of you is. But, that’s part of your charm, I s’pose. Your hidden depths, they give you magnetism. Every little bit I learn about you is like buried treasure, if that ain’t cliche as all Hell to say.

Sometimes, when I delude myself into thinking that maybe you’re harboring secrets about me, like I am you, I picture grand romantic scenarios where I’m miraculously brave enough to bring up how wonderful you are, to your face, and you pull me close and kiss me like we’re in some harlequin novel my Mama’d read. It’s probably pretty sad to say that those thoughts have pleased me much more than anything I’ve come up for my spank bank. Which is saying something, believe me.

Well, that’s about all I can think of to pretend to tell you, unless I wanna wax poetic about your mysterious eyes and unfairly sexy body. But, I do that well enough in my head. Besides, I can’t really justify wastin’ that much paper and ink on something I’m just gonna have to destroy, no matter how much fun it’d be to imagine you reading a proper love letter.

I sincerely hope we get you sorted out; I can’t stand seeing you so bothered, so distracted. It just ain’t like you. We’ve come too far, me and you, to go back to bein’ just co-workers. Since I can’t get my wish, I’ll settle for that.

 

Yours Truly,

Trip Tucker

 

**P.S.** One thing I always wanted to tell you was that, despite the discomfort of unrequited love, loving you ain’t a chore, no matter what your folks might’ve told you. It’s a challenging thing, being alone in this, but that don’t mean it ain’t worth it. I wouldn’t trade it for all the returned feelings in the world, Darlin’.                          


End file.
